


know you're enough (to use me for good)

by growlery



Series: the scene is dead (long live the scene) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Casual Sex, F/M, Past Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, Slam Poetry, not so casual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven's big on the local slam poetry scene. Bellamy's just here to support Octavia. If he keeps coming back even on nights Octavia isn't performing, well, he’s always been a fan of words in the right places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	know you're enough (to use me for good)

**Author's Note:**

> filling my own prompt, because poetry, and the idea of poet!raven just wouldn't leave me alone. background relationships: monty/miller, lincoln/octavia, some mention of past raven/finn and clarke/finn. title's from cover me up by jason isbell.

The bar's crowded, low-lit, a stage set up in the corner where Bellamy assumes the poetry is happening. He gets a beer – it's twice as expensive as his usual haunts, and some weird craft blend to boot – and goes to find Octavia.

She finds him first, a hand circling his wrist spinning him around to face her wide grin.

"You made it!" she says, using her grip on him to pull him into a hug.

"Of course," he says. "I couldn't miss your first show."

Octavia laughs, sort of strangled, and grabs his beer, draining what's left of it. Bellamy would protest, but she looks like she might throw up, or run away into the hills, so he just rubs a comforting hand over her back. 

"You're gonna kill it," he tells her, and she says, "Of course I will," but she's looking a little less green as she does, and Bellamy smiles. He'd tell her she was great even if he had to lie through his teeth, but he's heard her poetry, seen her perform in the cramped living room of his apartment. She _is_ going to kill it. 

He tunes out while they introduce the event, but he tunes sharply back in when they announce the headliner because of the thunderous applause her name receives.

"Hey," Raven Reyes says, and isn't that the name of a poet if Bellamy ever heard one. Raven has a sharp smile and a brace on her leg and long dark hair all around her face, and she launches into her first poem without any more preamble.

And, yeah, okay, Bellamy gets it. He might be more into prose but there's no way he can't appreciate the way she crafts a line to trip out of her mouth in just the right way, make it land in that space next to your heart. Raven is _good_. He likes the one about paper birds the best, but Octavia tells him that that one's actually about Raven's ex.

"Oh," Bellamy says, and then, casual, "Is she seeing anyone at the moment, do you know?"

"For a while I thought she was either going to kill Clarke or make out furiously with her, but I'm pretty sure she's single right now." Octavia smirks. "Not sure you're her type, though."

"Your poetry's shit," Bellamy tells her, and Octavia just laughs, and, well, that should be the end of it.

*

The next time's an accident, honestly, it is. It's Miller's birthday, and he's dragging everyone he knows out for drinks, and Bellamy doesn't realise it's the same bar that hosted the poetry slam until he's over the threshold. Someone's already on stage, and at the sight of long, dark hair Bellamy's heart rate picks up, but they're too pale, no brace on their leg. Bellamy shakes himself, just a bit, and follows Miller to the bar. 

Of course, then he realises it's also _Miller's_ bar, and by Miller's bar he doesn't mean the place Miller actually works at; it's the workplace of the cute bartender who keeps giving Miller free drinks who Miller absolutely refuses to flirt with. 

"It's weird," Miller tells him, for the hundredth time, after they've downed the shots that his bartender gave them for free after Drew announced that it was Miller's birthday. "I fucking hate it when people flirt with me at work. It's literally our job to be nice to people. Why would I inflict that shit upon other unwilling participants?"

"Trust me," Bellamy says, clapping Miller on the shoulder, "he's not unwilling. Do you need me to wingman? I can totally wingman."

"You're a terrible wingman," Miller says, "so terrible that I might just need to get myself another drink to get rid of the traumatising memories you've just brought up."

"That's the spirit," Bellamy says, his grin unwavering as Miller flips him off on his way back to the bar. 

Bellamy turns around, meaning to join the others at the table they've commandeered in the corner, but he bumps right into someone, knocking his glass back against his shirt. He's ready to snap at them, God, people should be more careful, but when he looks at them properly, he realises it's Raven. Her hair's tied up, a ponytail behind her head, but he'd recognise that face anywhere, he thinks. 

"Sorry," she says, grimacing, but then she stops, frowns. "Hey, you were at the show last week, right?"

Bellamy feels a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the fact that Raven remembered him, and it settles somewhere in his chest. "Yeah," he says. "Bellamy Blake."

Raven smiles; all this poetry must be getting to his head, because all he can think is that she shines like the stars.

"You're Octavia's brother, right? She's not performing tonight, you know."

"I know. I'm actually just out for drinks, it's my friend's birthday." 

He jerks his head over to where Miller is leaning against the bar, not-flirting with his bartender, and Raven's eyebrows go up. 

"You know the hot beanie guy?"

Bellamy raises his own eyebrows. "You know the cute nerdy bartender?"

"Monty," Raven says, and Bellamy says, "Miller."

He explains Miller's whole bartender thing, and Raven sighs. "Fucking figures," she says. "Why've you never been here before to help me bash their heads together?"

"This isn't really my usual kind of place," Bellamy drawls, because he feels like that should be obvious. "I was only here before for O's first show."

Raven's eyebrows go up. "That was her first show? Fuck me, I was nowhere near that good when I started."

"I'll tell her you said that," Bellamy says, "though maybe I won't, she'd probably actually explode. She thinks you're, like, the best."

"I am the best," Raven says, all lip-bite and cocky smile, and Bellamy wishes he were better at this, could segue naturally into asking for her number, or if he could buy her a drink, or _something_. 

As it is, there's just an awkward silence for a few seconds until Bellamy manages a, "Well, I should, you know," and a vague gesture in the direction of the bathroom. 

Raven nods. "Sorry, again," she says, and Bellamy shakes his head, _it's fine_. "Tell Miller happy birthday from me. And that Monty's been flirting with him for weeks, so he should really get over himself and flirt back if he wants to."

Bellamy gives her a mock salute and turns away to the bar, and that's it, _that's it_ , but he supposes it could have gone a lot worse. 

*

They stay out until the last orders bell goes, until Miller literally herds them all out the doors because, "We're not being _that guy_ , come the fuck on," and Bellamy still doesn't manage to even talk to Raven again, let alone try and flirt with her. 

He consoles himself with the fact that Miller utterly failed to flirt _too_ , so it's _fine_ , but he's more than a little drunk at this point so he's not sure he's making sense. More importantly, he doesn't _care_ if he's making sense. That's the great part about being drunk. 

"It is," agrees Miller, who's far more sober than he has any right to be, given the amount of alcohol people kept buying him, but he gets the door to their apartment open with minimal fuss, so Bellamy doesn't complain.

In the morning, after he's availed himself of Miller's best hangover cure and crawled back into bed, he googles Raven Reyes. He finds a bunch of recordings of live performances, including the one from last night, already posted, and then a YouTube channel called _spacewalkers_ with what are clearly videos of Raven in her bedroom. 

She looks a bit younger, softer, and she keeps breaking off to laugh at someone offscreen. The ex, Bellamy guesses. He doesn't know the full story – something involving cheating, and the Clarke that Octavia mentioned, and winding metaphors about birdsong – but it's enough to make his chest twist. 

"You're fucking brilliant," the voice offscreen says, and Raven smiles so wide Bellamy has to close the window, can't take part in what feels like some enormous invasion of Raven's privacy any longer. 

He does join the local poetry mailing list, though, makes a note of the upcoming events, and tries not to scan for Raven's name in the lists of performers. 

*

Octavia's got a show starting weirdly early, four o'clock sharp, and she's on first, headline slot, so Bellamy comes straight from class to get there on time. He manages to be a few minutes early, catches Octavia just before she goes on stage and buys her a drink to soothe her nerves. Maybe he should feel bad for enabling her underage drinking, but there are plenty of other reasons he's a bad big brother. He's not going to dwell on this one. 

She doesn't come find him when she's done, which is fine. The bar-slash-used-bookstore they're in is apparently some kind of regular for people who go to her college, and when she got offstage she was swarmed by a bunch of people he's seen her with before, as well as plenty of others who looked like total strangers, judging by the way they were fawning over her. Bellamy has to smile. His little sister has _fans_. 

He sticks around for the rest of the show, because it seems like a long way to come just to go home so soon. He hadn't seen Raven's name on the set list, so he's not prepared for her to come up behind him and say, "Hey," right in his ear. 

He jumps. This place is a lot quieter, and it's unnerving that he didn't notice her coming. She smirks at him, and he scowls. 

"Cute," he says. 

"I am," she agrees, still smirking. "You, on the other hand, just look like a walking stereotype of a history teacher."

"Guilty as charged," Bellamy says dryly. "English, though."

"Oh," Raven goes, delighted, "so you have _opinions_ about my poetry."

"I have opinions about poetry," Bellamy corrects her, "mostly of the I'm-not-a-big-fan kind."

"You're not one of those assholes who thinks slam poetry isn't real creative work because it's just shouting words, are you?"

" _Just_ shouting words," Bellamy says derisively, which earns him an approving nod from Raven. "I just prefer my stories in other forms."

"So you're a masochist, then?"

"Just a good big brother, actually," Bellamy says, and Raven grins. 

"Where is Octavia, by the way? I was gonna congratulate slash threaten her with vague but menacing doom for being so fucking talented."

"She's still hanging around the stage," Bellamy says. "I think I saw her talking to someone."

Raven's eyes light up. "Tattoos, soulful eyes, quiet yet inexplicably commanding voice?" Bellamy narrows his eyes, and nods. "I _knew_ she had a thing for Lincoln. Monty owes me twenty bucks."

"They were just talking," Bellamy says, and Raven grins wickedly. 

"Don't turn around, just take my word for it: they're not just talking any more."

"Thanks," Bellamy says, but he's only sarcastic because Raven's assumption that he's grossed out by his little sister macking on some guy, instead of resisting the urge to storm over there and drag him off her, makes him feel guilty. He was supposed to have grown out of his protective phase when Octavia grew out of needing him to protect her, but he's her big brother, and, for a while, the only parent she had. He's never going to feel like Octavia doesn't need him. It's a hard pill to swallow, but he's trying, he's trying. 

"Come on," Raven says, taking him by the elbow to steer him over to the bar, "let's get you a drink."

She gets them both beers, and waves away Bellamy's money when he tries to pay for his. Bellamy frowns. 

"You're a student," he points out, "and I have a proper grown-up job."

"I get paid for shows," Raven tells him, "and I owe you for the drink I spilt on you. Keep your money."

Bellamy just nods, holding up his glass to clink it against Raven's. If he kept arguing, it would be to save his pride, not because he thinks it's the right thing to do; he's not going to be that guy. 

"So who's Lincoln?" he asks, trying to sound casual. 

"Godfather of the scene," Raven informs him. "He doesn't perform much these days, mostly just organises shows and encourages the hell out of newbies."

"So he's a bit older," Bellamy says, still aiming for casual, but he's pretty sure he's even less convincing, this time, because Raven pats his arm sort of condescendingly. "Not that I care. Who Octavia dates is her own business."

"Uh huh," Raven says, and then, to the bartender, "I think he needs another drink."

*

Bellamy ends up back in Miller's bar at the end of a long week, made even longer by the amount of marking he has to do by the end of the weekend. Monty's working, and he lights up when he sees Bellamy approach, only to deflate when he realises Bellamy's on his own. 

_Unwilling_ , Bellamy thinks, and tries not to snort. 

"Hey," he says, and Monty says, "Our cheapest beer, coming right up."

Bellamy grins; it's nice to be remembered, even if it is only because of Miller. Sure enough, Monty asks, "You drinking alone? Not gonna judge, I was just. Wondering."

"Wondering," Bellamy echoes, smirking, and Monty smiles innocently back. "Miller's working tonight, and I've been reliably informed I don't have any other friends that aren't actually my sister's." He shrugs. "Figured I'd wait around for the show."

Monty's smile turns knowing. "Raven's performing."

"Huh, I hadn't realised," Bellamy says, and Monty shakes his head at him as he turns away to serve another customer. 

Raven's got a cane today, leaning heavily on it as she makes her way to the stage. She does a poem he's heard before, and then one he hasn't that kind of takes his breath away, and on the last line her gaze meets Bellamy's and, oh. Oh. That's what that feeling in his chest is. 

"Hey," she says, stopping in front of him after her set's done, a knowing look on her face. "Enjoying the show?"

Bellamy shrugs. "I've spent worse evenings."

"Masochist," she repeats, "I knew it," but he doesn't have a chance to retort because the next performer's started. 

There are a few more, none of them anywhere near as good as Raven, and then the announcer calls out, "Finn Collins!" and Raven's face just crumples. 

"I'll wait for you," Finn Collins starts, and it's the voice from Raven's videos. The ex. 

Raven turns away, downs what's left of her drink. Finn's poem is good, technically, but he's too polished, too dry, and anyway, Bellamy's far more concerned with Raven at the moment. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, shifting towards her, enough to offer comfort, but not too close to breach her personal space. 

Raven shakes her head. "We wrote this together."

Bellamy frowns. "Did he steal it?"

"No, it's-" Raven barks a laugh. "I told him it was okay. And it is. I just- I haven't heard him perform it since we broke up."

Bellamy eyes her, the tense lines of her body. He could try to lighten the mood, crack some joke about Raven having a thing for pretentious pretty boys, but he gets the feeling that'd be the opposite of helpful right now.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"So much," Raven tells him, and she grips his arm, steers him out through the crowd. 

Bellamy's not sure where this is going, exactly; he didn't mean anything by the offer except company, far away from the guy who clearly hurt her. Raven seems to have a better idea, though. As soon as they're out of the bar, the door shutting behind them closing off the noise, she turns around and gives him an appraising once-over. 

"My apartment's just a few blocks away," she says, and Bellamy swallows, heart racing, and nods. 

*

The sex is- the sex is fine. Raven is beautiful, strong lines underneath her clothes, and Bellamy does his best to commit every inch of her to memory. There's no way this is a forever thing, or even a lasts-longer-than-the-night thing, and Bellamy wants to enjoy it. 

It's kind of hard when Raven's kissing just to bruise, though, won't even look at him, won't speak except to say, "Not like that," and, "Here, like this." But that's okay. This isn't about him. Bellamy can be whatever she needs, as long as she shows him how. 

He comes; she doesn't, at first. She cuts off his apology with her mouth on his mouth and her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand down and keeping it there until she does. 

He's not sure what to do, after. She dropped her head to his chest and is breathing heavily into it, and they're touching nearly everywhere, bodies pressed close. He wants to hold her, stroke fingers through her hair and down her back, but he doesn't know if that would be okay, can't find his voice to ask. At least she's not shaking any more. 

"You can stay," Raven says. She sounds very young, suddenly, and Bellamy reminds himself she's only a bit older than Octavia. 

"I can call a cab," Bellamy offers, and Raven makes a face. 

"I said you can stay. Cabs are expensive."

Cabs _are_ expensive, and Bellamy can't really justify the luxury to himself; he'd probably fake the call and just walk all the way across town. 

If that's not why he's relieved he doesn't have to move, doesn't have to separate Raven's skin from his, well, this isn't about him. Bellamy can be whatever Raven needs. 

*

Raven's still asleep when Bellamy wakes in the morning. He moves slowly, gently, so he doesn't wake her while he dislodges her from where she's ended up curled against his side. There are dark circles under her eyes and a restlessness that didn't leave with her consciousness; he figures she needs all the sleep she can get. 

Once dressed, he pads out into the hall. It's a pretty small place, but it's nice, art on the walls and books upon books on shelves. Bellamy approves. 

He's making a pot of coffee in the kitchen, wondering if he should make toast, does Raven like toast, would she mind him using her bread, when he hears the door open. He turns, expecting Raven, prepared for her scowl. 

It's not Raven. 

He recognises the girl from shows, he's pretty sure, is almost certain she's been pointed out to him by Octavia. The blonde hair is familiar, as are the sharp eyes that narrow when they lock onto his. 

"Well," the girl says, "this is new," and, oh, okay, _now_ Bellamy realises why she's familiar. 

"Clarke," he says, and the girl nods slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here. What are _you_ doing here?"

"Finn's Clarke," he repeats, just so he's sure, and Clarke's eyes go even narrower. 

"Nobody's Clarke, actually," she says, ice cold, and Bellamy holds up his hands. It's not like he knows exactly what happened, even if he thinks he can guess. 

Clarke relaxes, just a bit, but she doesn't stop looking at him narrowly. "Unfair advantage," she says. "I don't know who you are."

And that's fair, Bellamy supposes, so he gives her his name. 

"Ah," Clarke says, "Octavia's Bellamy."

He can't and wouldn't protest, not in this universe or any other, but he can hear the challenge in her voice, the stance she's shifted into. "Yeah," he says, "Octavia's Bellamy."

Clarke stares him down for a few seconds longer, and then she nods. She steps around him, reaching for the coffee pot, and Bellamy steps back, watches her pour herself some. 

"Does Raven like toast?"

Clarke turns, a frown clear on her face, but then she shrugs. "Don't butter it. She hates butter."

Bellamy nods, and Clarke nods back, and it's not approval, exactly, but she's looking a lot less hostile as she disappears out of the door. 

*

Raven's awake when he pushes the door open, with his hip because his hands are full. She looks up from her phone when he enters, and arches one smooth eyebrow. 

"Morning," she says, and Bellamy says, "Afternoon, actually," and Raven flips him off with the hand not holding her phone. 

"It's a weekend," she tells him, "did you make me breakfast?"

Bellamy shrugs, puts the plate and the cup of coffee down next to her. She's pulled on her clothes, but her brace is propped against the bed, and her bad leg lies stretched out in front of her at an angle. He's careful of it as he sits on the bed next to her. 

"What are you reading?"

"Poetry," Raven says, and clears her throat. " _Come with me, I said, and no one knew where, or how my pain throbbed. No carnations or barcaroles for me, only a wound that love had opened._ "

Bellamy recognises it, of course he does. Everybody likes Neruda. Raven sounds different when she's reading other people's words, but she still imbues them with so much meaning, so much weight.

"That always how you start your day?" Bellamy says, instead of telling her that her voice makes his heart feel lighter.

Raven shrugs, swallows her toast. "Do you always start yours making breakfast for your one night stands?"

He doesn't know quite what to say to that. He clears his throat. "Clarke said you hate butter," is what comes out of his mouth, after a second, and Raven's face closes down. 

"I guess you want the whole sordid story now, then."

"I really don't care," he says. He doesn't, is the thing; love triangles are lazy plot devices, but they also just suck when they're happening to real people. Raven can keep her misery to herself, if she wants. 

"And yet you're judging me," Raven says, her smile all teeth, and Bellamy frowns. 

"I'm not-"

"He fucked us both over," she tells him, and Bellamy thinks about that line in her poem, the two birds killed with the same stone right through their beating hearts. 

"Okay," he says. 

"I needed a roommate to afford this place. Clarke couldn't stand living at home any longer. That's it."

"Okay," Bellamy repeats, and Raven sags, the fight visibly draining out of her. 

She finishes her toast, gulps down her coffee. Bellamy doesn't know where to look, where to put his hands, where to let himself be still. The quiet itches. 

" _I said it again_ ," he says, " _come with me, as if I were dying, and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth or the blood that rose into the silence._ "

Raven looks up at him as soon as he starts speaking, something soft on her face. It's too much, too gentle, for the memory of her skin on his still fresh in his mind, and Bellamy has to look away, break eye contact, until he's done. 

"Not a big fan of poetry, eh?" Raven says, but she's smiling, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. 

Bellamy shrugs. "Everybody likes Neruda."

*

He leaves Raven's apartment with her number programmed into his phone and several dates highlighted in his calendar. 

"Seriously," Raven says, shaking her head over his phone, "if you're going to randomly show up to shows you should at least try and come to the good ones," and Bellamy thinks, maybe, that they might be friends, or something close to it. 

She texts him during her classes and he picks them up in his break, shakes his head over her sarcastic commentary. On Thursday morning just before his first class, he gets what looks like a snippet of a poem that makes his breath catch, and the only response he manages is _too early for that shit_. 

He gets a winky face in response, and Bellamy doesn't know what it means, but it makes him smile. 

It's fine, it's all fine, and then, at their next biweekly sibling hangout, Octavia says, "So you and Raven," and Bellamy finds himself flushing all over. 

"You and Lincoln," he counters. He's been _good_ , he's been trying so hard, he hasn't even brought it up with her, and Octavia hasn't mentioned him. 

(He doesn't know how she knows about Raven. He hasn't told her anything.)

"We're not," Octavia says, and makes a face. "It's complicated. Don't change the subject."

"We're not, either," Bellamy says. It doesn't matter if he maybe wants to be, if he stays up late watching videos of Raven performing, if she sends him links to poetry she – correctly – thinks he'll like and he spends way too long finding things to criticise. This is good. He doesn't need anything else.

Octavia looks at him narrowly for a few seconds, but eventually, she just says, "Okay. You're coming to the slam on Tuesday, right?" Bellamy nods; he was already planning to, but it's one of the ones Raven highlighted for him. "I have this poem I want to do."

Bellamy frowns. "You didn't tell me you were working on new stuff."

"It's not exactly new." Octavia licks her lips, just misses looking him in the eyes. "The thing is, I don't do poems about people without checking it's okay with them first, especially if they're going to hear it."

Bellamy swallows. "You wrote a poem about me."

Octavia's mouth turns up on one side, sad. "It's about Mom, too," she says, "but I can't really ask her."

"Okay," Bellamy says, and Octavia frowns. 

"You haven't even heard it yet."

"I don't need to," he says, and he means it. "Whatever it is, it's okay." 

Octavia hugs him, hard, and when Bellamy exhales it's shaky and harsh. 

"I love you," she says, and they don't say it a lot, don't need to, but Bellamy closes his eyes and says, "I love you too."

*

The day of the slam, Bellamy gets a text from Raven that just says _bring Miller_. She won't explain any further, and Miller's got a rare night off work, so Bellamy sticks his head around Miller's door. He doesn't take much convincing; Bellamy's pretty sure he has a soft spot for Octavia, but then again, they couldn't be friends if he didn't. 

Octavia's talking to Lincoln when they get there, laughing and touching his arm, and Bellamy decides that not disturbing your little sister's attempts at wooing is the better part of valour. There's a familiar face at the bar, though, on the opposite side to where Bellamy usually sees it, and, well, Miller's wooing is an entirely different story.

"No excuse now," he says, nodding at where Monty is standing, and Miller scowls at him. 

"Did you plan this," he says, and Bellamy holds his hands up, innocent. "You are the worst best friend."

"You love me," Bellamy tells him. "Think about that when you're getting laid tonight."

Miller makes a face. "I'm not thinking about you while I'm having sex, Bellamy," he says, but he goes over to where Monty is standing without further protest, and even if it's just to escape, Bellamy still counts it as a victory. 

When he turns around, Raven's standing there, leaning against the wall, looking just as satisfied as he feels. 

"So Monty and Miller are looking very friendly," she says, and Bellamy hi-fives the hand she's holding up. "Good job, partner."

"I got him here," Bellamy says, and Raven says, "I got Monty here," and Bellamy sighs. 

"Fine," he says. "Partner." He can a feel a smile stretching his face, too honest, so he says, quickly, "You're not performing?" 

Raven shakes her head. "Haven't written anything new, and I've been performing the same stuff pretty solidly for a while. Gotta give people a break before they get sick of me."

She grins, but it's not self-deprecating, like she doubts herself. She knows she's good. She doesn't need him to tell her that, so Bellamy just smiles back. 

He's expecting her to leave after that, go hang out with the rest of the poetry crowd, but she never does, and it's nice, watching the performances with her, muttering his commentary to her, trying to make her laugh loud enough to disturb the show. It's nice, and then it's Octavia taking her place at the mic. She all but shouts the first line of her poem, and the bottom of Bellamy's stomach promptly falls out. 

It's about everything. It's about their mom dying when she was just a kid. It's about Bellamy fighting for custody when he was barely more than a kid himself. It's about the two of them scraping by so that Octavia could go to college. It's about suffocating, slowly. It's about quiet resentment. It's about love, of fucking course, because all the best poetry is, and when Octavia leaves the stage to thunderous applause, Bellamy is still frozen, something knotted in his throat. 

She makes a beeline for him, visibly shaking, and Bellamy opens his arms to her before she's even reached him. He said it would be okay, and it is; maybe if he were a bit younger, he would've lashed out, hurt Octavia the same way he's hurt, but he understands. He understands. 

"Mom would be so proud of you," he tells her, and she buries her head in his chest and exhales. "You should go hang out with your adoring audience, though."

"He's not kidding," Raven says, grinning, and Octavia laughs, only a little bit shaky. "Lincoln, for one, looks ready to propose marriage."

Bellamy doesn't glance over, and because he's still looking at Octavia, he gets to see the way her whole face lights up. He has to smile, seeing her so happy, and whatever's complicated between her and Lincoln, he hopes they work it out. 

"What are you," Bellamy says, when Octavia has left to seek out Lincoln in the crowd, "some kind of matchmaker?"

"Fuck that shit," Raven says, wrinkling her nose. "I just like it when my friends are happy, and if I can help them along to being happy with someone I know they like, then I will."

That sounds... entirely reasonable, actually, but something about the way Raven is looking at him is making his skin itch. He just coughs, tries to clear his throat, and nods. 

There's a brief lull, a not quite uncomfortable silence, and then Raven says, "I worked on the poem with Octavia. She was really nervous about getting it right."

"Oh," Bellamy says. His mouth twists. "You'll be wanting the whole sordid story, then."

Raven shrugs. "I got the gist," she says, but even though her voice is flippant, her eyes are gentle. "I'm sorry about your mom."

Raven has a poem about her mother, too; it's angry and hurt and stricken with grief, and Bellamy doesn't think he could ever be brave enough to get up onstage with his heart exposed like that. He didn't know Octavia could, either, but he should've, he _should've_. She's always been his little sister, but she's always been so strong. 

"Wanna get out of here?" he asks, and Raven smiles, small but so warm, and nods. 

*

They go back to Bellamy's, this time. It's weird, and it's not, because the expectation still hangs in the air between them, but it feels less urgent, less charged. Bellamy isn't as sure of what's going on, here, but he feels more comfortable where he is. 

Raven laughs at the bust of Augustus on his bedside table. "You," she says, as she flops down onto his bed, "are a giant nerd, aren't you?"

"You can talk," Bellamy retorts, " _engineering_."

"Whoa," Raven says, narrowing her eyes at him, "don't lump me in with those useless assholes. I'm a mechanic, get it right."

"Same difference. You still know way too much about, whatever the fuck, physics shit, _and_ you write poetry." Bellamy perches on the end of the bed, raising his eyebrows at her. "You're a nerd on at least two fronts."

"Oh yeah?" Raven says, and she's suddenly right in front of him, the warmth of her radiating out towards him. If he moved his hand just an inch or two over, he'd be touching hers. 

"Yeah," he says, mouth dry. "I saw your DVD collection, Raven. You aren't fooling anyone."

Raven smiles, so close to his own face. Bellamy swallows, can't stop his gaze darting down to Raven's mouth, and when he looks back up, she's leaning in to kiss him. 

The only place they're touching is their mouths, except he can feel Raven's hair, still tied up, wispy strands tickling his cheek, and her hands are on the bed on either side of his knee, holding herself up. Bellamy could sink into this feeling, this light-headed rustling sweetness, just on the edge of something more. 

He wants more, wants to stroke hands over Raven's belly, her ribs, push her down into his bed, feel her move against him, but he also wants to take Raven's hand, lace their fingers together, kiss across her knuckles. He's lost in the possibilities, the things he thinks – hopes – Raven wants from him, too, but this, he can do. 

*

He wakes in the morning to an empty bed, Raven's brace gone from where they'd propped it against the wall. Bellamy looks down, takes a deep breath, but before he can tell himself not to be such a fucking tool about this, he hears the door open. 

"You're out of bread," Raven tells him, coming to sit in the dip her body left in his shitty mattress, and Bellamy knows the smile on his face is too soft, too telling, but he can't bring himself to care. "Can I interest you in some poetry instead?"

Bellamy pushes himself up from his elbows, sits up right in front of Raven. "I'm sure I'll suffer through it somehow," he says, and Raven laughs, bright and so, so warm.

**Author's Note:**

> raiindust made a [beautiful graphic](http://raiindust.tumblr.com/post/137401222733) inspired by this!


End file.
